


In Sickness, Health, and Murder

by cywscross



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Angst, Assassin Stiles Stilinski, Assassins & Hitmen, M/M, Past Character Death, Pre-Slash, Steter Secret Santa, Steter Secret Santa 2017, The Hale Pack - Freeform, Werewolf Discrimination
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-27 06:39:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13242621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cywscross/pseuds/cywscross
Summary: A chance to topple an empire doesn’t come around every day. If nothing else, Stiles’ new husband can provide that much. Still, he hopes Peter can be more than just an excuse.





	In Sickness, Health, and Murder

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DiscontentedWinter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiscontentedWinter/gifts).



> Steter Secret Santa 2017, for the amazing DiscontentedWinter!
> 
> First of all, I’m really sorry this is late! I didn’t actually start writing until after my finals on the 22nd, and then I had holiday stuff to prepare for so this ended up on the backburner for a few more days before I finally focused on writing this.
> 
> Secondly, this is an arranged marriage AU as you requested, with preslash Steter for now. I started and discarded five other arranged marriage ideas before finally throwing in the towel and just deciding to blend the arranged marriage thing with assassin!Stiles because I couldn't seem to write anything else. It’s only the first chapter because I figured I should probably post half of this first before school starts again, and I’m already working on the other half, which will include the no-longer-preslash chunk of Steter and hopefully be up in another week or so. I hope you enjoy :)

 

“The Hales made an offer today,” The Sheriff says very casually over dinner one night, and really, that should’ve been Stiles’ first clue.  To be fair though, he’s been awake for the past seventy-two hours, he only got home an hour ago, and the only reason he’s not dead asleep right now is because his dad already had Chinese takeout waiting for him on the table.

As it is, Stiles only grunts around a mouthful of chicken.  “Yeah?  Musta been hell of an offer to get someone to even think ’bout it.  If anyone thought about it.  Who’d they ask?”

His dad doesn’t answer, and after a moment, Stiles looks up, halting with his chopsticks halfway between his mouth and his food.  He blames exhaustion and sheer incredulity for how long it takes him to connect the dots.  “...You _didn’t_.”

For someone who was once married to Claudia Stilinski, his dad does a terrible job of trying not to look too shifty.

Stiles groans.  “ _Dad!_  I’m not even a candidate!”

The Sheriff sighs.  “They seemed desperate.  I just thought-”

“Of _course_ they’re desperate!”  Stiles snorts.  “Everybody knows what year it is.”

Laura Hale turns eighteen.  Marrying age.

“She and her brother came to the station again today,” The Sheriff continues with a grimace.  “To check if there were any prospects.  I was on my lunch break when they came in so I helped them look.”

“And there weren’t any,” Stiles finishes, going back to his food.  “Just like every other time they checked.  Obviously.”  He huffs under his dad’s reproachful look.  “It’s not that I don’t feel _bad_ for them-” He doesn’t, actually, but it’s one of those things he probably _should_ feel bad about, “-but nobody’s gonna touch the Hales with a ten-foot pole.”

His dad’s expression goes flat, and Stiles can feel a headache coming on.

“I know it isn’t right,” He says before he can get a lecture on morality again.  God knows he’s heard enough of them over the years.  “It’s like giving a beaten dog back to the person who beat it, I _know_.  But I don’t-”

He spreads his hands in a half-exasperated, half-helpless gesture, and his dad sighs again but doesn’t push the point.  He knows as well as Stiles does that he’s too much his mom’s side of the family most of the time.

“They asked me after their prospects came up zero again,” the Sheriff explains instead, “We _are_ human, so we’re eligible, and I guess better a random family than the Argents.”

Stiles snorts again.  That goes without saying.  Better _any_ family than the Argents.  Still, Stiles’ family isn’t _that_ much better, although he supposes it’s not like the Hales would know that.

“I only told them I would think about it.”  His dad continues, slanting an almost tentative look at Stiles this time.  “I didn’t promise anything.”

“Think about whether you want to pawn your only son off to the gutted remains of a pack that the Argents have been waiting to screw over even more for going on eight years,” Stiles mutters, ignoring the frown now aimed at him.  It’s even on the tip of his tongue to snap back something along the lines of _if you’re so worried about them, why don’t you marry her_ , but he bites it back because even he has some lines he won’t cross, and as far as he knows, his dad has never taken off his wedding ring.  So he settles for a sullen, “And you said leaving the Hales to fend for themselves isn’t right.”

His dad has the decency to wince a little.  “It’s up to you,” he says at last, throwing his hands up in a motion that’s both placating and defeated.  “You know you can set the terms, if you agree - the initial offer is usually just a general idea of what they can bring into the marriage, and at this point, I'm pretty sure the Hales are willing to agree to just about anything in exchange for someone who’d be willing to keep them out of Argent hands.”

Stiles scrubs a hand over his face before looking at his dad again.  “You realize you might lose your job by the end of this madness, right?”

“It's a good thing I have another job lined up then,” His dad says, infinitely dry.  He waves a hand.  “I'll manage.  It _is_ your choice, Stiles.”

Stiles purses his lips in thought for a long moment before releasing a sigh and pushing his dinner away.  His appetite’s long gone.

“I'll sleep on it,” he finally says grudgingly even as he clambers to his feet, “but even if I do agree to _getting hitched_ -” God help him.  “-don't expect me to be nice about it.  Our family doesn't take in freeloaders.”

“I wouldn't assume we would,” His dad says ruefully.  “I _was_ married to your mother.”

Stiles makes a grumbling sound and _mostly_ doesn't stomp from the kitchen.

Sleep sounds like an excellent idea at the moment.  Maybe in twenty-four hours, this will all turn out to be part of a very messed up dream.

 

* * *

 

Twenty-four hours does not turn reality into bad dreams.  Stiles wakes up sometime in the early morning a day later, has about seven seconds to laze around in bed, luxuriating in the well-rested feeling of a whole day doing nothing after a complicated job well done, and then he remembers with a jolt just what his own father signed him up for.

He rolls over with a groan, trying to smother the way his brain is already jumping into overdrive, turning this newest problem around, wondering if he even _wants_ to tackle this problem.

Well, no, of course he doesn’t, that’s a given.  Taking in a werewolf and their pack would be more trouble than they’re worth, and Stiles likes his life the way it is right now, thank you very much.

He flops onto his back and sighs up at the ceiling.  The Marriage Law.  It’s existed for longer than Stiles has been alive.  Established after the wars ended by the Hunter Tribunal, werewolf packs are now required to… attach themselves to human families, which is just about the nicest way of putting it.  One werewolf marries in, and the rest of their family is allowed to go with them.  They get to stay together, and in exchange, the world is reassured that another dangerous pack is under human supervision instead of out there building an army or procreating with each other or whatever else people are afraid of these days.

Not that werewolves aren’t all collared already, and any newborn shifters are only born to a werewolf and human pair now.  Werewolves mating with each other was outlawed almost a decade ago so baby werewolves only exist nowadays through the Law.  Marriage is a requirement only if a human family wants them.  Otherwise, they’re left alone, but sectioned off on a small piece of land and closely monitored.

Nobody actually calls any of it _imprisonment_ or _slavery_ out loud, and technically, humans are required to provide for the pack they take in, to take care of them, but most people consider werewolves to be less than human, some are more accepting, others are firmly of the mind that they’re little better than livestock or breeders, and not many care that much whether they’re treated right.  Most even encourage the opposite.  Those who do want to help don’t for long, or at the very least they don’t go around announcing it, not when the new world order means werewolf-hating humans are on top, and sympathizers aren’t tolerated.

The one time werewolves banded together to try and rebel eight years ago, a total of thirty-two entire packs were wiped out of existence, and countless others were executed on live TV as a warning.  One of the only packs that were both at the forefront of the charge and actually came out the other side with survivors had been the Hale Pack, and, well, everybody knows their numbers dropped from almost twenty to four practically overnight.   As a result, post-rebellion, humans hated and feared werewolves even more, werewolves blamed the Hales for the even more stringent regulations implemented against their species, and they’ve been outcasts at best ever since.  Not that all werewolves aren’t outcasts in some form or another, but the Hales have it particularly bad.

So is it any wonder Stiles wants nothing to do with them?  He feels sorry for them to some degree.  Nobody wants to be subjugated, forced into a sham of a marriage against their will and treated as second-class citizens for the rest of their lives at best, slaves and broodmares at worst.  But he doesn’t know them, doesn’t owe them anything either, and there’s a reason - more than one - why nobody wants anything to do with them.

No one in their right mind would stand against the Argent Empire, especially for a bunch of shifters that one of the oldest hunter families unofficially called dibs on after the rebellion.  If the Hales can be considered practically royalty - however disgraced - and one of the most renowned names in the werewolf community, then the Argents would be their counterpart among the hunters.  But where the Argents rose to stand at the pinnacle of society, the Hales fell to the bottom, and most of the fatal hits they took on the way down were largely delivered at the former’s hands.

There was - very quiet - speculation about why the Argents didn’t go the whole mile with them and simply finish off every last Hale after the rebellion the way they did to quite a few other packs, but most said it must be punishment, and Stiles agrees.

Sometimes, death is kind.  Personally, Stiles would take being dead over being chained to people who would take great joy in his suffering any day of the week, but maybe that’s just him.  Still, the Argents are certainly sadistic enough to prefer this long-term kind of torture over a quick death.  Give them the illusion of freedom for eight years, and then take it away all at once, probably violate the poor girl as some twisted birthday present, and any future Hale offspring would be at the Argents’ nonexistent mercy.

That brings him right back around to his current situation though.  With no solution in sight.  Or, well, there is a solution - he could simply say no, reject the offer, tell his dad to leave a message for the Hales and not even bother setting up a face-to-face.  It wouldn’t even just be the less troublesome thing to do, it would also be the smart thing to do.

But…

He sits up, blankets pooling around his waist as he sighs again.  But if he doesn’t even try, doesn’t even give the Hales a chance to say their piece, his dad will probably be giving him disappointed looks for the next age and a half no matter what he says about this being Stiles’ choice.  He’ll get over it, because if nothing else, John Stilinski is well aware of what kind of family he married into, but that won’t stop him from disapproving.  It’s not like him to ask this sort of thing from Stiles though, so Laura Hale must’ve really made an impact.  That, or this is eight years’ worth of righteous indignation talking.

Stiles remains in bed for another few minutes, then with a grimace he tosses back the sheets and crawls out of bed.

One meeting won’t hurt.  And it’s not like he has anything else lined up for today.  Might as well go see exactly how desperate the Hale Pack is.

 

* * *

 

It’s six in the morning when Peter slinks down the stairs to find Laura still in the living area, very much not asleep.  She's sitting in the dark on their old couch, elbows propped on her thighs, staring blankly at the mug of coffee long gone cold in her hands.

He takes a seat on the bottom steps, watching his niece for a moment before letting his gaze meander to the nearest window, moonlight streaming through the tarp they pulled over it because a storm broke it a couple weeks ago, and they can't afford to get it fixed, not if they want as big a dowry as they can possibly offer for Laura’s upcoming birthday.

It takes effort not to destroy something even now.  You'd think he'd get used to it, to the inevitability of their place under Argent control, but even after all these years, a part of him still wants to set the whole world on fire just to get rid of humanity.

He turns back to Laura, who came home two days ago from yet another failed bid to see if any other family might be willing to marry her, only to tell him she's apparently resorted to propositioning the town sheriff.  Peter doesn't know Stilinski but he's human with a stable job and a secure financial background, and zero incentive to put him and his only son in the Argents’ warpath.  Laura's been waiting for a phone call ever since though, for no other reason than because she insisted the Sheriff seemed kind, even sympathetic to her situation, and he promised to at least consider the offer, which is actually already more than anyone else has ever done since Gerard Argent’s little speech that fateful day about being merciful, about sparing children ( _only some children, mind you_ ), about taking them into his own family one day to ensure their rehabilitation.  Peter would happily wring his neck given even half a chance, but people believed the old bastard, adoration and respect for the Argents went through the roof, and Peter was left with three orphans on his hands, most of their family assets seized, and not a single ally to turn to.

So he rather doubts Stilinski - a complete stranger - would risk the Argents’ wrath for them.  And honestly, Peter doesn't know where he went wrong with his niece.  Nobody would ever call him a perfect parental figure, but at the very least, he thought he managed to instill _some_ practicality in the girl.  And yet somehow, even now, days away from a contingent of Argent filth coming to town to haul them all away, she can still do something as ridiculous as _hope_.

His irritation spikes, and that finally seems to catch Laura’s attention because her head swings up and around, and she ends up blinking blearily at him.  “Uncle Peter?”

Peter responds with a tight smile that makes her flinch a little, which only irritates him more, if only because he always hears Talia’s voice scolding him in these instances.

 _If you wanted them raised by someone more considerate_ , he thinks somewhat uncharitably, _then you shouldn’t have fucked up and died_.

Outwardly, he drops the attempt at a smile and gets to his feet instead, prowling into the kitchen and hunting down a chipped glass for some water before returning to the living area and exchanging it for Laura’s half-empty mug.  Laura accepts it wordlessly but doesn’t actually drink until Peter nudges her.  She’s been downing coffee like it’s oxygen for the past forty-eight hours now.

“...I’m being stupid, aren’t I?”  She says at last after taking a couple sips from the glass.  Her shoulders slump even further.  “You don’t have to tell me, I already know.  I just thought-”

She cuts herself off, and a tense silence ensues, broken only when Peter heaves a sigh and gruffly reaches over to reel her in by the scruff of her neck, tucking her into his side just the way he did when she was ten and couldn’t go a day without sobbing over the loss of eighty percent of their pack.  He doesn’t- He’s _forgotten_ how to be gentle, if he ever knew how to begin with, but the kids have never seemed to mind for whatever reason, and it’s no different now - Laura curls her legs up and leans into him willingly enough, like they don’t both know full well the broken angry mess of a man he actually is.

“No harm in trying,” Peter allows reluctantly.  “Worst that could happen is he’ll turn you down, and we’ll be right back where we started.”

Laura’s nails clink absently against the glass still clasped between her hands.  “...He- The Sheriff, he didn’t look at me like I was… beneath him or something.  And I mean, he’s the _Sheriff_ , he’s not in charge of the Marriage Registry at the station, but he came over to help when he noticed the people who _were_ in charge were doing that pretend-they’re-busy-with-something-else thing they like to pull, and he looked at them like _they_ were the assholes, and then he kicked one off her terminal and looked up my bid for me...” She shrugs helplessly.  “I didn’t really think it through.  I just thought, he didn’t seem to hate our kind, so I just… asked.”

Peter already knows all this, more or less, if only because Laura has a habit of rambling when she’s nervous, and she was _very_ nervous when she came home two days ago.  Granted, Peter _was_ angry as soon as he heard - it’s _humiliating_ , the way humans look down on their kind like they’re somehow lesser base animals not worth anything, and this is a small town, the moment someone with as public a job as Stilinski’s turns their offer down, word will spread, and it’ll just be more fodder for people to mock them with.

But, “It’s fine,” He reiterates roughly.  “It’s your marriage anyway.”  He’s looked up some general information about Stilinski but there’s very little about his family on record, only that his wife died years back, and he has one son who’s of marrying age.  “Do you know anything about the son?”

Laura shrugs again.  “His name’s… something Polish.  But the Sheriff called him Stiles.  He’s twenty years old.  Not in the candidates pool but the Sheriff said he would probably be willing to at least meet us.  I’ve seen him at the supermarket a few times.  He’s pale, about my height, brown hair, almost fell into the produce section once when a couple guys shoved him.”  She looks faintly bemused for a moment.  “He wears a lot of plaid.”

Great.  Bully victim with bad fashion sense.  How can someone like that possibly have the balls to challenge the Argents, even if on the off-chance he has the desire to do so?

He sighs.  There’s no use fretting about it now.  It’s a negligible factor in the grand scheme of things anyway.  Once the boy rejects Laura, they’ll have to prepare for the Argents’ arrival.  Her dowry’s nothing to brag about, although he doubts even a fortune would make those monsters treat them with any kind of decency, and Peter’s loath to give even a single penny to them, but something is better than nothing in this case - the dowry might be enough to pay for their room and board - to _pay_ , period - for at least a while before the Argents begin demanding a harsher price.

He hopes, anyway.

...Oh god, maybe Laura really did learn it from him after all.

He rubs a hand over his forehead, closing his eyes for a moment and entertaining - not for the first time - the wild idea of grabbing all three of his- of _Talia’s_ kids and just… leaving.  Running.  Doesn’t matter where.  They’re werewolves.  Surely they could survive even out in the wilderness.

But they would live the rest of their lives as fugitives, and those lives wouldn’t be very long either, with so many hunter patrols out there, not to mention…

He lowers his hand, and his fingers brush the thin metal band around his neck, as unyielding as the day it was locked onto him.  It’s a death sentence waiting to happen, established after the failed rebellion, and all werewolves have one these days, tracking their every move on some virtual map and ready to inject them with a lethal dose of wolfsbane the moment they put too far a toe out of line.  Unattached packs are handled by whatever government body is closest, but as soon as the Marriage Law is enacted, the remotes went to the family that owned them.

If they ran, they would be dead before the week was out.

“Peter?”

Peter opens his eyes and shakes his head, finally letting go of Laura and clambering to his feet again.  “Come on.  If you’re not going to sleep, you might as well help me make breakfast.”

Laura makes a disgruntled noise but drains the last of her water and follows him into the kitchen anyway.  They still have some eggs and bacon.  Bread too but they ran out of butter last week.  The stove stutters to life under Peter’s hands, and Laura sets about digging out the pan.

“I don’t want to get married,” Laura mumbles, almost too quiet for even Peter to hear.  He pauses, eggs in hand, before resuming the motion of kicking the fridge shut.  He can’t tell her _then you won’t have to_ , he can’t tell her _we’ll think of a way out_ , he can’t even tell her _everything will be okay_ , because none of that is true, and he’s never been one to dress things up with a pretty lie, not even for children.

Laura breathes out something that might be a sob, but her eyes are dry when Peter glances at her, and neither of them says another word as they get breakfast ready.

 

* * *

 

They all go that day, just as they did yesterday, although the Sheriff told them his son was still thinking about it then, and to come back today.  If there’s going to be a meeting, then this Stiles will probably want to see what he’s getting in-person, and it’s just considered polite for all of them to show up.  Cora’s ten, and Derek’s sixteen, but it isn’t as if either of them has school to attend, so they all pile into the car, dressed in some of their more expensive clothes, not too formal but not too casual either, and Peter drives them to the station.  Cora sits silent in the back, Derek’s already glowering out the window, and by the time they pull into the parking lot, Laura’s hands are white-knuckled in her lap.

Peter just wants to get this over with.  What is there to think about anyway?  The sooner the boy rejects their offer, the sooner the disappointment can set in, and the sooner they can go back to bracing themselves for the Argents’ arrival.

When they walk into the station and the Sheriff almost immediately ducks out of his office to meet them.

“Good morning,” Stilinski says, and Peter has to suppress a sneer because there’s nothing good about this morning.  At least the man doesn’t smile.  He looks them over instead before nodding and gesturing down hallway.  “My son’s running a bit late but he should be here in a few minutes.  He’s asked to meet you first before deciding, so if you’ll come with me, I can get you settled in a private room.”

Laura’s shoulders go even stiffer but she manages weak smile and a nod back, and after filing into a nondescript-looking room, she even manages a courteous thank-you as Stilinski turns to leave.

There are enough chairs for all of them, with a table in the center.  Laura sits on one side of it, placing a copy of her file in front of her as Peter takes the seat on her left.  Derek and Cora pull their chairs back to the wall and settle down behind them.  Their job is to say nothing.  Laura, as both Alpha and the one looking for a marriage, is allowed a voice in the negotiations.  And Peter, as her guardian and Second, even if the latter counts for little to nothing these days, also gets a say.

For a while, they sit in a thick silence, one that builds with every passing minute.  It’s Cora who finally blurts out, as if unable to stand the tension any longer, “Do you think this Stiles guy will accept?”

Derek is still scowling, arms crossed, probably trying to look tough but only coming off like he’s sulking.  He glances over though, and the anxiety buzzing underneath his outward petulance is not at all subtle.

Laura has a death-grip on her file, but her siblings can’t see that, and her voice is steady when she says, “We’ll have to see.”

Peter says nothing, leaning back in his chair, eyes on the door, and even Cora stays silent after that.

It’s almost ten minutes before Peter picks up the sound of muted footsteps coming down the hall.  Laura hears it a second after he does and immediately straightens, hands clenching briefly before deliberately relaxing all the way, and they all stand up when the door swings open to reveal a lean, pale figure, brown-haired, as Laura said, with a file of his own tucked under his arm, and…

…dressed in horrendous plaid and jeans and slightly scuffed sneakers, looking more like he’s going out to eat at some fast-food restaurant than meeting a potential future wife.

Peter would be judging _very_ hard, except…

“Hi!  Hey!  Sorry I’m late!”  Stiles Stilinski flails forward, carelessly shutting the door behind him even as he half-stumbles into the room, smiling awkwardly at all of them without lingering on any one.  “Forgot to set my alarm clock.  You’re Laura, right?  I mean duh, of course you are.  And Peter, Derek, and Cora?  I hope you haven’t been waiting too long.”

He makes his way over to the table, all clatter and noise, his heartbeat a staccato rhythm in his chest.  He doesn’t try to shake any of their hands or even introduce himself, and he sprawls into the remaining seat at the table as soon as he pulls the chair out far enough.

Laura stares for a full three seconds, more stunned than anything else, before she hastily takes a seat again, and Peter follows suit, slanting a look back over his shoulder to make sure Cora and Derek did as well.

Then he gives Stiles his full attention again, watching as the twenty-year-old human fumbles open the file and rubs the back of his head almost sheepishly before looking up to glance between Laura and Peter this time.

“So...” His fingers fiddle with the papers in the file, currently open to a list of Laura’s medical records.  “I guess we’re just gonna jump right into this?  I mean I don’t know if there’s a proper protocol or something.”

Laura darts a glance full of quicksilver trepidation at Peter before her shoulders square.

“There isn’t really one,” She says, voice low and courteous, about as deferential as any werewolf with the Alpha spark in them can get.  “We can start anywhere you like.”

Stiles blinks at her before shrugging.  “Well okay then.  Uh, how ’bout you tell me why you wanna marry me in the first place?  I mean I’m not in the pool right now, and my dad and I aren’t _poor_ but we’re not filthy rich or anything either.  We don’t know each other, and you already have a kind of agreement with the Argents, right?  They have plenty of money so they could provide for you no problem.”

Laura’s features look a little fixed now but her tone maintains the same respectful lilt as she replies, “I am grateful to the Argents but I was curious about any other options available.”

Stiles’ expression doesn’t shift, the slightly distracted smile and attentive brown eyes never waver from Laura, but Peter thinks, _wrong answer_ anyway, and he doesn’t know why.

“Your father seemed nice too,” Laura continues lightly.  “And I thought, if you were amenable to it of course, I would like to at least meet you.”

She smiles the way Peter taught her to - demure but not cowardly, self-assured but not arrogant, not too clingy, not too friendly, not too cold, and never let them see any sort of challenge to their authority.  She does it perfectly but Peter still feels a shiver of uneasiness creep up his spine.

“Hmm,” Stiles nods a few times, looking back down at the file and rifling through the next couple pages.  “Well cool, options are always good.  And you have a pretty decent dowry to offer.  These heirlooms are…?”

Peter has to focus on breathing through a wave of outrage at anyone outside their pack getting their hands on the few Hale heirlooms left but he doesn't miss a beat as he takes over for Laura, tugging the file from her and retrieving a piece of paper that lists the heirlooms in more detail.  He slides it across the table and watches as genuine interest sparks for the first time in Stiles’ eyes.

_Ah.  So that's what was wrong._

“It's mostly books,” He explains in clipped tones.  “Passed down from our ancestors.  But we also have a few jars of poisons and their antidotes left behind by our family's emissaries, a set of crystal tableware, and several bottles of very old wine.”

Stiles hums again, scanning the list for a moment before setting it aside.  The interest fades even as his expression remains bright and clumsily earnest, and Peter would never have been able to tell the difference if he didn't just witness the shift himself.

They're boring him, Peter thinks with startled certainty, and it's… it's an odd realization he's come to, an odd _reaction_ for the boy to have, one that's more baffling than offensive for once.  Stiles is fidgety, and he smells like he’s replaced half his weight in blood with caffeine, but there's also something flat under that scent, and it's certainly not good for their chances.

“It says here you're fertile,” Stiles is saying, and Peter sees a muscle twitch in Laura's jaw.  “And you don't mind children-”

“-so long as Cora and Derek are left alone, even after they come of age,” Laura interrupts like she can't help herself.  She grimaces immediately after, pressing her lips into a thin line, but Stiles just raises his eyebrows before shrugging.

“Yeah, you wrote that down,” He says agreeably enough.  His gaze flicks briefly to Peter.  “Not your uncle though?”

“I hardly mind a romp in the sheets,” Peter interjects smoothly with a smile that teeters on the brink of too-sharp.  It pulls at his face, and he tries to curb it further, pushing his wolf back down.

It's for the best, although he had the Argents in mind when he discussed this with Laura.  Better give them more than one option, more than one person to torment, and maybe they'll actually abide by the contract for a while instead of breaking it at the first opportunity.  There's no absolute guarantee that they will, and Peter fully expects they won’t, but it’s one of the few things he can still do to try and shield Cora and Derek for a little while longer, so he’ll do it.  It’s a weak gamble, and everyone knows it.  But humans are supposed to be honourable and trustworthy, so of course they'll follow the contract they sign.  If a werewolf complains, well, who would ever believe them?

“Okay,” Stiles shrugs again, and then his smile turns a little embarrassed.  “But um, I’m not really interested in kids yet, so even if we do get married, that probably won’t be on the table anytime soon.”

Peter doesn’t need superior senses to know just how cautiously relieved Laura is upon hearing those words.  It’s twined with doubt, probably because what hormonal teenage boy - technically no longer a teenager, but still - _wouldn’t_ want free sex when it would be fully in his rights to have, not to mention it would be just like the Argents to promise one thing and go back on their word a day later, for nothing more than the sheer amusement value.  Quite a lot of others would be the same when it comes to their treatment of werewolves.  Then again, _no kids_ doesn’t mean _no sex_.

And Peter isn’t one to simply trust someone on their word either, especially a human.  But he listens to Stiles’ jittery heartbeat and studies his restless appearance, and he can’t pick out a lie.  His father’s the Sheriff though; it wouldn’t be so surprising if the boy’s learned how to trick a werewolf’s sense of hearing.

Still, this isn’t at all the way he expected this meeting to go.  Stiles _looks_ the part, _acts_ the part too, of a fresh-out-of-high-school youth bumbling his way through a potential conjugal arrangement, but he’s _bored_ , Peter is certain of that, even if he can’t pinpoint exactly what it is about Stiles that makes him think so.  Scent, but also…

“That’s fine,” Laura is saying.  “I don’t mind waiting a few years.”

Stiles directs another smile at her.  “Awesome.”  He glances back down at the file.  “And… cooking, cleaning, wow that’s a lot of languages you know...”

He looks inquisitive this time, and Laura only hesitates a beat before admitting, “My uncle taught me.  I’m fluent in all five so if you ever have business overseas or you need a translator, I can help with that.”

“That’s really cool,” Stiles’ gaze slides over to Peter again before sliding back.  It takes effort for Peter to not frown, and when he glances at Laura, she looks momentarily uncertain as well.

There’s nothing in Stiles’ scent to indicate he’s in the least bit impressed, no matter what’s coming out of his mouth.

“It says here that your uncle is a consultant for a local law firm,” Stiles continues, switching tracks.  He glances at Laura.  “How ’bout you?  Do you work?  Do you _want_ to work?  If you do, what kind?”

Laura stares, and her eyelashes flutter like she’s making an effort not to look at Peter for guidance.

Work?  The only reason Peter still has a job with the law firm his family once owned but Whittemore took over post-rebellion is because they like lording their power and prestige over him, profiting from Peter’s input, paying him far less than he deserves, and all the while laughing at how far he’s fallen.

But it’s work, and it pays, however little, so Peter grits his teeth and bears it.  Most werewolves don’t have actual jobs though, or if they do, they’re usually positions that pay even less than Peter’s.  But nine times out of ten, werewolves end up serving the families they sell themselves to.  The luckier ones get jobs in their new _owners’_ businesses.  The not so lucky ones never really see the light of day again.

“I-” Laura starts, stops, then hurries on, “I don’t have a job at the moment but I don’t mind working.  I haven’t thought too much about future careers but anything you think my skill set would suit, I would be happy to do it.”

It’s a good answer, shaped to cater to her spouse, very clearly distinguishing the power difference between them, placing the human on top.  Just about anyone in this day and age would be content with it.  Even an Argent wouldn’t find fault in it, although they would never ask such questions to begin with.

But, _wrong answer_ , Peter thinks again, and he moves a hand under the table to squeeze Laura’s wrist, feeling the thud of her pulse as her panic levels rise.  She knows it too this time.

“Right,” Stiles sighs, and for the first time since he entered the room, his smile falters before dropping away entirely, and for a moment, his eyes move to the door like he can’t wait for this meeting to be over.

Stiles hasn’t asked any of the common questions, is the thing.  Well they did hit the fertility issue, and not everyone wants kids, so that was more or less along the lines of a normal meeting.  But so far, he hasn’t actually asked that many questions, and of the ones he has asked, most aren’t ones even Peter would’ve predicted.

The desires of a werewolf are inconsequential.  Nobody, not even sympathisers, care enough to ask about what they want.  At most, from what Peter knows, the more fortunate ones that end up in families that aren’t prejudiced against them are kept out of the public eye, given a stipend and room and board, and that’s about it.  Maybe a run on the full moon if they have the space.  Peter was fully expecting to have to quit even his job once Laura marries, but if this boy…

He hears shuffling behind him, and he wastes no time pinning his other niece and nephew with a glare that freezes them both back in their seats, and not a second too soon because Cora has her feet planted on the floor and stupidly even has her mouth open, like she wants to shout something in her sister’s defense, while Derek’s scowling darkly - per usual - but he’s all puffed up indignantly in a way that makes Peter want to shake him.

( _They’ll never survive the Argents.  They’re Hales.  They have more wolfblood in them than the average pack, and bowing down to people who won’t ever see them as anything but mutts and playthings for the rest of their lives just isn’t in them._ )

There’s a sigh, and then Stiles turns back to them, to Laura.  “Do you have any questions for me?”

That’s… well, at least not so rare that Laura won’t know how to respond, although most people don’t ask outright like that.  Still, Laura glances at him first, and Peter nods his go-ahead.

“A few,” Laura says carefully.  “I know I would move in with you if we are married but will my pack also live in the same house?”

Stiles looks faintly amused at this.  “My dad and I only have one house in this town, so yeah.  I don’t really wanna move out and find my own place yet so we’d all live there.  We only have two guest bedrooms though so you’d have to share.”

Laura nods, and the rigid line of her shoulders eases a touch.  Peter on the other hand mulls over the choice of words before cutting in, more reckless in this one moment than he’s been since he was a child, “Does that mean you would not require Laura to sleep with you?”

Laura’s head snaps around, her eyes going wide with horror, but Stiles only looks at him again, something like surprise in the quirk of his lips.  “Nah, I’m a blanket-hog, and I sleep on a single.  It wouldn’t fit two people.  I also like my privacy, and I’m not willing to give that up, so I’m afraid Laura would have to share with one of you.”

Laura gapes at him until Peter elbows her, although he doesn’t look away from Stiles, and at the back of his mind, his wolf stirs.

“And what would be required of her?”  Peter asks quietly, deliberately, meeting Stiles’ gaze evenly.  “Of us?  I think you know as well as we do that the Argents would be... ” He smirks without humour.  “...rather annoyed, should you agree to this marriage.”

“We would be willing to give you everything we have,” Laura jumps in, perhaps sensing - if not freedom - then at least a way out of her impending nuptials with a member of the Argent family, which is already more than they’ve had for the past eight years.  Still, Peter slants an irritable look at her for a split second.  Negotiation is never going to be her strong suit.

On his part, Stiles only shrugs as he flips shut the file in front of him.  “I don’t actually _need_ anything, you know.  As for what I’d _require_ of you, well, stay out of trouble, don’t get caught picking fights, don’t walk down a dark alley alone.  I dunno, use common sense.”  He grins, and this time, Peter recognizes the teeth in it.  “You guys still have that, right?”

Derek bristles in Peter’s peripheral vision, and he swiftly shoots the boy another icy glare.  Losing his temper isn’t going to help anyone.

“Thing is,” Stiles continues, and there’s a finality in the way he sits back.  He doesn’t look terribly sympathetic towards Laura’s pale face, nor does he flinch from Peter’s unblinking stare.  “ _I’m_ only here today cuz my dad asked, and like I said, I don’t need anything from you.”  He shrugs flippantly, and Peter can feel the prickle of his claws through the material of his slacks.  “And honestly, you haven’t offered all that much that I might want either.”

Peter wonders how long it would take his collar to kill him if he reaches over right now and rips this boy’s throat out.

“So!”

Laura twitches like she wants to jump.  Peter doesn’t so much as bat an eye.  Stiles beams at them obliviously.  “I have another question for you, just one more.”  He holds up three slender fingers.  “Three people are in a room - you, someone you love, and your enemy.  Your enemy has a weapon, doesn’t really matter what weapon, the point is they only have time to kill one of you.”  He claps his hands together.  “What do you do?  Who do you save?”

He blinks expectantly at them, from Laura to Peter to Derek and Cora, then back to Laura.  Laura’s lips part but she doesn’t seem to know if Stiles actually wants an answer, and she certainly doesn’t understand _why_ he’s asked a question like that in the first place.  She glances at Peter, then at Stiles again, and then just seems to throw caution to the wind, looking equal parts confused and frustrated.

“I’d save the person I love,” Laura declares, and she says it like a challenge.  “Are you asking about Pack?  Of course I’d pick the person I love.”

Stiles stares, one, two, three seconds, then he smiles again, as cheerful and bright as when he first tumbled into the room.  He also pushes his chair back and picks up the file, and something in Laura’s expression crumples with despair.

Behind her, Derek leaps to his feet, a growl rumbling in his chest, and Cora scrambles up after him.  “You asked her a question, she answered!  Not everybody wants to save themselves!  Pack doesn’t do that!  You can’t just-”

“Derek, _be quiet_ -” Laura hisses as she too rises, her words harsh enough that they almost hide the waver in her voice.

Stiles glances once at Derek, vaguely curious, mostly unconcerned, before standing himself, tucking the file under his arm again, and turning in the direction of the door.

Laura spins around again, eyes flashing red, less angry and more desperate.  “Wait, please, look-”

“Both.”

The room falls silent.  Stiles goes still.

Peter, still seated, watches, listens, remembers word for word the way Stiles flung random questions at them, prodding, _testing_ , for something.

So, “Both,” he repeats, “I’d save both.”  He lets his eyes bleed their cobalt blue.  “I’d kill my enemy to save both.”  He grins, all teeth, with just a hint of fang.  “After all, I have my own weapon, don’t I?”

Stiles doesn’t move for a long, hushed moment.  And then he turns back, already grinning, and this time, it is entirely real.

 

* * *

 

Stiles didn’t expect much when he walked into the room, and he just about walked right back out within half an hour of meeting Laura, disappointed anyway in the face of her forced confidence and rote attempts to please him.

She has no fire, no steel, and maybe part of that is because she doesn’t think he’d like it, or she’s been taught to hide it, but he thinks he dropped plenty of hints, said things that he knows would piss off any self-respecting werewolf, especially a Hale, and still… nothing.  Someone like that - his mother would weep if he took them for a partner.

And then he asks his question, and the answer is still not what he’s looking for, because what’s the use of saving the person you love if you’re not around anymore to appreciate it, your enemy would still have _won_ , and _doesn’t she understand the kind of world they live in now?  Doesn’t she remember what she is?_

Stiles doesn’t want a self-sacrificing martyr.  He wants a _survivor_ , and it’s clear he’s not going to get that from her.

He’s already coming up with an apology for his father when Peter speaks up.  Peter Hale, cool-eyed and a blinking danger sign at the edge of Stiles’ senses, with a faceful of scars he doesn’t bother to hide.

Peter Hale who tells him he’d kill his enemy before that enemy can touch him or his.

Peter Hale who - for just a moment - looks at him with a seething wildfire rage that could burn the whole world down.

Peter Hale who-

-isn’t married.

“ _You’re_ not married!”  He exclaims out loud, mind already speeding off towards a new solution.

Peter’s head cocks, and the simple movement looks distinctly calculating.

“...I’m not,” He agrees slowly, and suddenly his gaze is ten times more intent than before.  His next smirk lands somewhere between bitter and strangely, defiantly proud even as he gestures at the burn scars that still stand out so starkly down the right side of his face despite a near-decade and werewolf healing.  “I’m not as pretty as I once was.  And of course, I can hardly get pregnant.”

It’s a reminder.  Unspoken goes the fact that one of the reasons the Argents haven’t gone after a marriage with Peter all these years even though Stiles has a vague recollection of seeing an outdated file on him in the listings is probably because they like the idea of forcing him to raise his own niece just to be force to hand her over as their prisoner-bride, but another is that she’s female, and most people like at least the option of having kids one day who might turn out to be werewolves, especially if those kids can be groomed into fanatical hunters who hunt their own kind, loyal only to their owners.  Stiles on the other hand can always adopt - might even be better in some ways to be able to handpick your child, make sure they have the right constitution.

So he waves a dismissive hand, plopping back down in his seat and raking a critical eye over what he can see of Peter.  Broad shoulders, strong hands, something predatory even just in the way he sits.

And his first instinct, when confronted with a threat, is to kill, not lie down and die or throw himself into the crossfire, but not save his own skin either.

This one.  This one could work.

“Are _you_ offering a marriage?”  Stiles asks without beating around the bush.  He wasn’t planning on this; even before he walked in, he was only going to let them say whatever before walking back out and putting the whole incident behind him.  If he’s honest, he doesn’t feel like it’s particularly _kind_ to string them along like that, just to be nice - in their place, he would’ve preferred being rejected right away instead of given false hope - but he’s not exactly an expert on kindness, or niceness, and his dad said he should, so he did.

Marrying Peter would… make things difficult, to say the least.  There’s no guarantee the man will turn out the way Stiles thinks he has the potential to, no guarantee he’ll _want_ to learn either.  Then there’s the Argent problem.  If Stiles goes through with this, he’ll essentially be declaring war on the Argents.  They _butchered_ the Hales; nobody else is allowed a claim on them.  More importantly, they would see this as a challenge to their authority, and if they don’t answer, people will start asking questions, will think them weak.  Not that they need even that much of an excuse to punish those they think deserve it.

Marrying Peter means placing the Hale Pack under Stiles’ protection.  Which means he’ll have to move quickly, make a few phone calls as soon as possible, and probably get yelled at before the day is out.

He’s getting ahead of himself though.  Peter hasn’t exactly agre-

“I could be amenable to it,” Peter replies, and they both ignore the way Laura is looking completely thrown for a loop on the side.  “I would be willing to offer-” He nods at Laura’s file.  “-the same monetary assets my niece has listed.”  If possible, his gaze chills even further but he continues without a hitch, “Any wages I or my family earn from any future jobs we might have would also go to you.  We have clothes of our own so you wouldn’t have to provide that for us.  I’m adept at cooking and cleaning and other household chores, as are the rest of my family, so we can do that too.  You’ll have to make do with just me if you want sex though.  Laura is off-limits, as are Derek and Cora, even after they come of age.  And if you need a bargaining chip to satisfy the Argents, I wouldn’t mind being traded to them-” Laura makes an aborted step forward but Peter bulldozes over anything she was planning to say.  “-on the condition that you’ll keep my nieces and nephew out of their hands, for as long as you possibly can.”

 _Even if that means death_ , he doesn’t say, but Stiles hears it anyway.  He arches an eyebrow, amused despite the cold eyes drilling holes in him.  “How high-maintenance of you.  And here I thought I was the one in charge of setting the final terms.  Defying the Argents even?  How scary.  Maybe scary enough for me to reject your offer too.”

Peter sweeps a hand at the door, smiling thinly in a way that barely conceals the fangs behind it.  “By all means.  We’ll simply be right back where we started.”  His eyes narrow, watching Stiles like he wants to pick him apart.  Or rip him apart.  At this point, he probably isn’t all that picky.  “But marrying one of us at all would mean defying the Argents, and I don’t think you would’ve wasted half your morning here if you weren’t prepared for that outcome.”

He sees, Stiles thinks with a thrill.  Not all, not even half, but Peter’s noticed, or maybe sensed, something about him that runs beyond the normal town-raised twenty-year-old baseline human guise that Stiles wears like a favourite cloak.

No one’s ever noticed on their own, not when he lost his temper, not when his pranks on his ‘bullies’ rested on the cliff’s edge of cruelty.  They overlook it, or ignore it.  Kids he went to school with from kindergarten to their high school graduation have never even had an inkling about what he is, what he does, what he was born into.

He grins.  Lydia’s going to yell at him for this _so badly_.  But he’s always had an impulsive streak, and she knows that too.

“I accept,” Stiles announces, then laughs when Laura does a double-take, and her siblings openly gawk at him.  He has eyes only for Peter though, who hasn’t looked away from him since he asked his last question.  Stiles shakes his head and gets to his feet again.  “I’ll get my dad to draw up the contract now.  You probably want this done as soon as possible, right?”

He waits for Peter’s acquiescence before he moves to the door, pulling it shut behind him and huffing another laugh at Peter’s sheer gall.

His dad pokes his head out from around the corner two doors down.  “Well?”

Stiles snorts and shoves his hands in his pockets as he makes his way over.  “ _Well_ , I’m not marrying Laura.”  Before his dad can look more than slightly resigned, Stiles adds, “I’m marrying her uncle.  Peter Hale.  Could you get the paperwork written up?  Oh, and update his file too.  You can talk to Peter, he’ll tell you what we agreed on.”

The Sheriff stares for three whole speechless seconds before breaking out into a proud smile.  Stiles rolls his eyes.  “Ugh, Dad, please stop.”

“I’ll get it done,” His dad agrees.  “You don’t want us to wait for you?”

Stiles shrugs and pulls out his phone.  “Anything they want, short of raising the dead or werewolf liberation overnight, I can probably give it to them.  I’ll read the contract later anyway, before I sign, and even if he adds something we didn’t talk about, I’ll probably agree.  Right now,” He wiggles his cell.  “I have calls to make.”

“Ah,” _Now_ his dad looks sympathetic, thanks a bunch.  “Good luck.  Use my office.”

Stiles makes a face but strolls for the Sheriff’s office without slowing down.  The faster he gets this over with, the faster everyone can get to work.

 

* * *

 

_“YOU DID WHAT.”_

“To be fair, my dad started it.”

_“You didn’t have to AGREE, Stiles!  Do you know what this means?  This is like kicking over an anthill!  With human-sized ants who carry guns!”_

“That’s one weird image.”

_“STILES.”_

“What’s done is done.  Besides, we were always going to do this.”

 _“Yes, over the course of_ years _, not-”_

“So we’ll be moving our schedule up.  C’mon, Lyds, it’s us.  You saying we can’t take them?”

_“Are you trying to goad me?  Seriously?  That’s not the point, and you know it.  But there’s going to be a lot of blood and bodies by the end of this-”_

“We’re toppling an empire, blood and bodies is kind of par for the course.”

_“-and we won’t be able to hide them.  We work behind the scenes, Stiles.  We might not have that choice if we move as fast as you want us to.  And all this for what?  For some guy you met for half an hour because you feel sorry for him and his family?”_

“If I pulled something like this for everyone I feel sorry for… well okay, I don’t feel sorry for that many people, and it’s not that this time either.  You know I wouldn’t marry someone just because I pity them, or I’d have just agreed to Laura’s proposal.”

_“Then why?”_

“...Because he’s interesting.”

_“Stiles.  For fuck’s sake.  How is that any better?”_

“Look, does it matter?  I’ve decided.  And if it wasn’t this, it would’ve been something else.  We both know picking people like them off one by one like we’ve been doing would take us an eternity to get rid of.  This is the perfect excuse we need to get them to stick their heads out so we can cut them off all at once.”

_“You say that like it’s going to be easy.”_

“It won’t be, but where’s the fun in that?  You’ve been bored, haven’t you?  All the sneaking around is cramping your style, admit it.”

_“I will do no such thing.  God, you give me so much fucking trouble, Stiles, I swear.  But fine.  On your own head be it.  I hope this Peter Hale is worth it cuz you’re stuck with him for the rest of your life.  Are you really going to introduce him to what we do?”_

“Well, not right away.  I will but... I haven’t really decided how I’ll do it.”

_“Of course you haven’t.”_

“I’ll think of something.  For now, we need to get our asses in gear.  You’re in charge of briefing the others.”

_“Obviously.  I hope you know what you’re doing.”_

“Almost always.  Don’t worry, Lydia.  I can handle marriage.”

_“And if your new husband decides he hates humans enough to kill you in your sleep once you’re no longer useful to him?”_

“I’ll kill him first.  Duh.”

_“Hmph.  You better.  Alright, I’ll get everybody organized.  When will you join us?”_

“Weekend at the latest.”

_“We’ll be expecting you.”_

 

* * *

 

“Do you think he’ll actually go through with it?”  Laura murmurs in hushed tones, scanning the contract for the fifth time since the Sheriff printed out the final copy for them.  Peter’s signature is already at the bottom.

Peter lounges back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest, eyes closed, trying to slot the pieces of _Stiles Stilinski_ together in his mind.  There’s a lot of missing pieces.  “Would he go to the trouble of having a contract written up if he’s only playing around?  Maybe.  Would the Sheriff?”

“Maybe,” Laura parrots, tossing the papers back down on the table.  “...I don’t get it.  He could’ve just married me.  He would’ve gotten even more out of it.  What was all that fuss about?  Does he _like_ that you’re...” Peter can picture her stymied hand gestures even without looking.  “-more bloodthirsty than me?”

Peter hums noncommittally and doesn’t bother answering.   _No.  That’s not quite it, is it?_

“He’s probably gonna trick us somehow,” Derek grumbles from somewhere in the background.  “Maybe give us to the Argents later in exchange for something.  Why else would he agree to marry Uncle Peter?  Ow!”

Peter opens his eyes and glances over at his nephew, who’s nursing his ribs and giving Cora’s scowling face a wounded look.  Then he catches Peter’s flatly unimpressed expression directed at him and flushes.  “I don’t mean it like that!”

He sinks further in his seat when Laura sends him a reprimanding look, but Peter only turns away again with a roll of his eyes.  He knows he’s ugly.  Men and women on the streets either can’t seem to bear to look at him, or they whisper the moment he walks past them, conveniently forgetting his heightened sense of hearing.  They give him a wide berth too, which Peter is perfectly fine with.  He wouldn’t breathe the same air as them if he had the choice.  And the Argents, all those years ago, were delighted when it became clear his scars wouldn’t just disappear, not when the fire they used to torch his pack’s house only served to sear the wolfsbane gas into his flesh permanently.  They seemed to think the shame of them would serve as a reminder of his family’s failure for the rest of his life.

And maybe they do.  But he can shoulder them the way he’s shouldered everything else, so it’s of little consequence to him.  If nothing else, the scars certainly increase his intimidation factor, and that’s not something Peter’s going to complain about.

Although it doesn’t seem to work on his new would-be husband.  From start to finish, there was no fear in him, of that Peter is sure now.  He doesn’t quite know what to make of Stiles, not yet, and _that_ makes him apprehensive.  He can use fear, he can _manipulate_ it, to his advantage.  He can’t manipulate anything if he doesn’t even know what he’s dealing with.

But, logically speaking, Stiles at least has to be a better option than the Argents, who will want Laura married into the main line.  Everyone knows Gerard is a widow, so Laura might be married off to him, and Peter’s never voiced it but he’s fairly certain that if that happens, Laura will find a way to take her own life before the year is out.  There’s Gerard’s children too, but they’re hardly any better, from what Peter knows of them and has heard over the years.  Kate’s as insane as her father, and Christopher does what he’s told like an obedient lapdog.  The latter already has a wife too, and Peter hasn’t met her but he’s seen her on TV, and she’s worse than her husband.  She probably wouldn’t like Laura being married to Christopher, and Peter doesn’t even want to imagine how bad off Laura would be in Victoria’s clutches.

No, better take their chances with Stiles, although what he can do to protect them, Peter doesn’t know.  But he’s always trusted his instincts, and something in him _leapt_ forward when Stiles brought up the possibility of a union between the two of them instead, and looking honestly interested too, which is definitely a first.

Footsteps reach his ears, and he sits up.  Laura does the same, and Derek and Cora quickly take their seats again.

Peter will wait and watch.  Surely something will come along, a weakness he might exploit, something to make sure Stiles will keep his word, and in the meantime, he’s at least bought his family some more time.

 

* * *

 

Thirty hours, one contract, two signatures, a trip to a ring shop, a trip to City Hall to file the marriage and pick up the remotes for their respective collars from a clerk who wouldn’t stop staring and actually asked for proof three times before finally handing them over, and some packing up later, Peter is pulling into the driveway of the Stilinski home, tensing a little when he feels the tingle of _very_ powerful wards wash over him as he drives over the property line.  Both Derek and Cora shudder and crane their heads around, wide-eyed.

Laura rubs her hands together before looking back as well.  “...Do you think they’re strong enough to keep the Argents out?”

Peter smiles grimly, unbuckling his seatbelt and moving to exit the car.  “I suppose we’ll see.”

The Sheriff isn’t home, from what Peter can tell, but Stiles already has the front door open, dressed in shorts and another flannel shirt, smiling cheerily at them as he jogs down the steps towards them.

“Hey, you’re here!”  He greets.  “Your rooms are ready.  Let me help you with your luggage.”

Both Cora and Derek hang back warily, and Laura very politely declines, but Peter opens the trunk and shoves a large cardboard box into his dear husband’s arms, gaze flicking down briefly when he notices the way Stiles doesn’t even rock back on his heels.

Curious.  Peter held back his full strength - he’s used to doing that by now - but, deliberately, not by that much this time, wanting to know how far he can push Stiles before the boy gets angry.

Stiles just nods and lopes back towards the house.  Peter slings a bag over his shoulder and picks up a couple boxes himself, rolling his eyes when his niblings all remain standing there.

“Get your stuff,” He orders.  “And hurry up.  Laura, lock the car behind you.”

The Stilinski house has three floors, which for two people seems a bit excessive.  Still, Peter’s hardly about to start nitpicking when - true to what he told Laura - Stiles leads them upstairs and stops in front of two empty bedrooms.  They have plain blue-grey walls and wooden flooring, but they’re also fully equipped with the essentials, including beds - two in each - and desks and even an adjoining bathroom that both rooms have access to from either side.  Empty shelves and closets wait for them, and there aren’t any balconies but the windows are satisfactorily large.  All in all, it’s already better living conditions than his family’s house in the Preserve.  The Hale house was big - it had to be, they were a large pack once upon a time - but they didn’t have enough money to rebuild from the ground up after the fire destroyed most of it, and Peter already had to pay the only construction company that agreed to fix up parts of it more than the repairs would’ve cost for a human.  To this day, the place is run-down at best, sections of the house are still boarded up and closed off, and the smell of smoke never quite left the walls.  So the Stilinski household is night and day compared to their old home.

“Two bedrooms, like I said,” Stiles says, setting the box in his arms just inside one of the rooms.  “I don’t really care who stays with who so just decide between yourselves.  My bedroom is that one,” He points to a closed door several feet down the hall.  “And my dad has the master.”  He looks around.  “I can give you a tour later if you want, or you can just look around, but it’s not that complicated - kitchen, living room, and dining room are all downstairs, so is my dad’s study, and another bathroom.  Basement has some exercise equipment if that’s your thing, also a wine cellar and the laundry room, along with a door that leads out into the garage.  Oh-”

He breaks off and pats his pockets before withdrawing four rings of keys and holding them out until Peter takes them.  “Keys to the front and back doors, and the garage.”

“We’re allowed to go out?”  Cora blurts out, and then immediately looks like she wants to take it back.

Stiles blinks quizzically at her.  “Yeah?  I mean I wouldn’t recommend it right now but I’m assuming you know how to handle yourselves, so...” He shrugs and turns back to Peter, something more solemn taking over his features.  “And you can keep your current job if you want but...”

“I was going to quit anyway,” Peter agrees sardonically.  “The Whittemores are huge supporters of the Argents.  They moved to this town for the sole purpose of keeping an eye on my family in the first place.  It’s not particularly smart to put myself within their reach at the moment.”

Stiles nods approvingly.  “Yeah, that’s what I thought.  We’ll figure out a job for you later.  It’s not like you need one right this minute anyway.”  He surveys them again before meeting Peter’s gaze once more.  “I think that’s about it for now.  Dinner’s in a few hours so I’ll call you down when it’s time to eat.  Do you guys need anything else?”

Laura, Peter mentally sighs, looks slightly overwhelmed, although she sounds steady enough when she offers Stiles a no-thank-you.  Derek and Cora follow suit but even they look a bit dazed.

“We’ll be fine,” Peter answers last.  He pauses, then allows, “We can prepare dinner if you’d like.”

Stiles considers him for a moment before shrugging again.  “Okay, we can take turns.  Since you’re settling in today, I’ll go first.  You can make breakfast tomorrow.  My dad’s not really home enough to take a turn, and he’s a terrible cook anyway, you’re better off not eating anything he makes, so it’s best to just leave him out of the rotation.”

Peter slowly nods.  Stiles just smiles again.  “Great!  I’ll leave you to your unpacking then.  Oh wait, one more thing-”

He digs into his pockets once more, and this time, even Peter’s at a loss for words because the devices Stiles is holding out are the metal-grey remotes to their collars.  The silence stretches until Stiles huffs and leans into one of the bedrooms to place them on a shelf.  He presses a finger to the sly curve of his lips and winks, and then - with a wave - he turns and saunters off, not looking back as he stops in front of his own bedroom and disappears inside, door clicking shut behind him.

“Uncle Peter?”  Laura sounds faint.  “What’s going on?”

Peter doesn’t answer, mostly because he doesn’t know either.  But he steps around his niece and picks up one of the remotes, weighing it in his hand, the urge to crush it itching in his palm.  He doesn’t of course.  That would only set off the collar automatically.

“Start unpacking,” He says at last.  “I’m hiding these.”

Laura nods, relief warring with disbelief, but she ushers Cora into one of the bedrooms, and Derek doesn’t need prompting to shuffle into the other one after a last lingering look at the remotes, the fingers of one hand tugging unconsciously at his own collar before he turns away.

Peter doesn’t move for a long minute, still turning the remote over in his hand, listening to the clink of it against the gold band that now sits heavily around his ring finger.  Then he scoops up the rest and follows Derek into their new bedroom.

Stiles wants something.  And Peter will find out what if it’s the last thing he does.

 

* * *

 

In the early hours of the morning, Stiles is putting on his shoes when he senses movement behind him.

“Missing breakfast?”

Stiles finishes lacing up his right shoe before standing and turning to face Peter, who’s hovering in a shadowed corner of the hall.  “Yup.  I’ll have to taste your food another time, sorry.”

Peter glances down as Stiles stoops to pick up the viola case and garment bag at his feet.  “Concert?”

“Yeah, it’s my job,” Stiles hefts the case a bit.  “I play the viola with a travelling orchestra, so I have to leave town pretty regularly.  I’ll be flying out to Milan in a couple hours.”

Peter says nothing to this but he does nod his acknowledgement after a moment.  “I suppose we probably shouldn’t leave the house?”

“I’d advise against it, yeah,” Stiles says dryly.  “Backyard’s fine though.  Front too, although maybe don’t be too conspicuous.  Just don’t leave the property.  Or do.  Either way, it’s up to you.”

This time, Peter doesn’t even nod, and when he doesn’t say anything else, Stiles shrugs and turns to leave, letting the door swing shut behind him.

If he misses his flight, Lydia will never let him hear the end of it.

 

* * *

 

Three days later, a branch of Argent-owned hunter headquarters in Paris goes up in flames in a truly spectacular explosion that delays the impending arrival of a contingent of Argents in Beacon Hills as they reroute their flight to Europe.

Peter watches the smoking ruins and rising body count on the news and wonders.

 

 


End file.
